


get a room

by satsukichan



Category: Kill la Kill
Genre: Bickering, Drabble, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Not Romance, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3904636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satsukichan/pseuds/satsukichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like they're fooling anyone, anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	get a room

**Author's Note:**

> When _that_ line happened in the dub, please rest assured I was okay. I only cried twice and took an hour long break before I could unpause the video. This is the result.

The sex happens by complete accident the first time.

It’s a simple enough mistake, after all. You spend your formative years sniping back and forth, so you learn the shape of his mouth with yours. You get so worked up shouting at each other that your pulse races, so his lips on your neck don’t feel wrong. Work a few drinks into the equation and it’s okay that you’re stumbling into bed with him. His hands look nicer working your panties down your legs than they do balled into angry fists, anyway, and his tongue is put to better use between your thighs than they are when he snaps back at your snide comments. Under mood lighting, passive aggression becomes badly concealed pent up frustration, and you’re more than willing to fix that when you climb onto him.

He obliges, as well.

But lightweights or no, there’s only so long sake can burn through thinly constructed social walls, and when you both come to, the sheets are sticky with sweat and he can’t look you in the eye.

“Holy shit, Jakuzure.”

Sheets crinkle under your combined weight. Even shifting slightly to the side makes the springs creak loudly in protest, and the walls are thin. For the sake of  your pride, you hope the rooms next to yours were vacant. The ceiling fans are the only other noise in the room when you peel yourself off the mattress, and try to locate your bra.

“Hey…”

Ignoring him is the only course of action, of course. There are bruises forming on your collarbones and hips and his hair is disheveled when he sits upright, and memories flicker behind your eyelids like a damaged VHS tape. You remember kissing his face. You remember kissing much more than his face. By the look on his face, you’re not alone. Lipstick prints line the collar of his shirt when you hand it to him silently, and the meaning is obvious.

(Let us _never_ speak of this again.)

The words are unspoken, but they hang in the air for a long time after you check out.

 

* * *

 

“How did you celebrate your graduation, Sanageyama? After everything was said and done, I mean?”

Houka means well enough, but it isn’t until you see the bottom of your glass that you can fathom an answer that isn’t something along the lines of ‘ _by taking your advice_ ’.

“Got plastered. Had to walk Gama to the station. Nothing too eventful.” There isn’t enough beer to keep your mouth occupied anymore. “Oi, barkeep.”

“Is that so.”

Inumuta was never one to trust when he took on that tone of voice. There’s nothing more threatening than the sight of the former information head leaning closer with a hand against his head, smirking in a way he knew could not bode well.

“Yeah. What’s with that face?”

“It’s nothing particularly of note.” The barkeep slides a foaming mug at you, and you maintain eye contact with Houka as he speaks. “Just talking to Iori.”

“Really, now.”

He twirls a strand of hair with an errant finger, face the picture of innocence. And Inumuta being Inumuta, he waits until you’re taking a long drink before he continues.

“So, when were you planning to tell me you finally shagged Jakuzure?”

 

* * *

 

Your excuse the first time was alcohol.

The second time, you’re just visiting to see if the Sanageyamas are interested in a discount for partnering with them (‘we ship faster than any other company, for cheaper’), and his hands work their way into your panties in the back room, stone cold sober. When his parents offer a spare room for the night, you accept their hospitality. He makes fun of your blazer, but it looks nice on his floor. Nicer still is the way he looks on his knees. You tell him you prefer him that way.

His reply is… nice, too.

The fourth time, it’s in a cramped bathroom between drinks during your monthly meeting with the others, and it’s not until you make it back to your hotel that Satsuki quietly tells you your hickies have been visible the entire night.

“How long?” She asks. There’s that damn knowing smile, as if she could see right through you.

“Not as long as you’d think,” you mumble. Your face could light up a street. “It was an accident.”

“I’m sure it was.”

There’s a seventh time. And a twelfth. And eventually, even you lose count. But there’s comfort to be found in friction, and for whatever reason, you don’t particularly mind, even when he asks the question that’s been gnawing at the back of your mind.

“Are we really kidding anyone with the bullshit? The whole yelling at each other schtick?”

“It’s not a schtick. I’ll stop calling you an idiot when you stop being an idiot.”

“If this is what being an idiot gets me, then I’ll stay stupid.”

“Less talking.”

“Make me.”

“Gladly.”

Hips roll lazily against each other, mouths fitting together between words. When he sighs your name, you know that this was inevitable. Maybe you were meant to jump each other’s bones, from the first time he called you a shrimp and you told him to die in a hole.

But then again, what else are friends for? 

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr account is satsukichan! Feel free to ask questions regarding any of my fics!


End file.
